


winding down

by starryvin



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 07:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18338984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryvin/pseuds/starryvin
Summary: Theron is feeling claustrophobic and surly in Orzammar. Zevran helps.---It's just dumb fluff and flirting.





	winding down

The worst thing about dwarven parties was definitely the ale, Theron mused as he sipped his drink once more, just to ensure that it was still as bad as it had been before.

It was. And Theron was stupid for assuming it wouldn't be. He swallowed it with great difficulty.

"Enjoying the ale, are we?"

Dammit, dwarves had a sixth sense for situations where they could laugh at 'surfacers' for not being accustomed to their culture. Or scoff. He wasn't sure which this one was going to do.

"It certainly tastes unique," he said. 'Refreshing taste of cat piss,' he wanted to add, but wasn't sure if the young lady standing in front of him with a grin on her face was that laid-back. She laughed loudly and took a long swing of her own drink.

"Doesn't it?" she said and punched him in the arm. "You surfacers don't drink enough, is that a culture thing?"

"Uh..." What was a nice way to say 'your alcoholic beverages taste like my dog's breath would taste liquefied'? "I think we aren't used to dwarven ale."

Clearly, the woman was the laughing type: she burst into heartfelt laughter again. Theron might've enjoyed listening to it if he hadn't been gritting his teeth and wishing for the party to just be over for the last three hours.

"You ought to get used to it," the woman said much too loud, still drying the tears that her laughter had conjured up. "C'mon, drink up!"

Theron forced a laugh. It was painful.

"I'd rather keep my mind in my head and not in my mug." The woman giggled and scoffed playfully.

"You elves are such lightweights, that's exactly what the other one said too."

Theron huffed, failing to appear interested in what 'the other elf' had said. He'd probably hear it from Zevran himself later, more times than he cared to. He enjoyed the company of the assassin, he really did, but he had the habit of repeating himself when drunk.

The dwarf left him, still giggling, and Theron sighed in relief.

"The dread wolf take you all," he muttered and glowered, wanting nothing more than to dump his drink somewhere and leave this stupid city and its many walls.

"Now, I am not an expert on the Dalish culture, but that couldn't have been a blessing, am I right?"

Theron whirled around, startled by the sudden comment, and came face to face with the very man who had occupied his thoughts just recently.

"It wasn't," he said, and Zevran laughed, clearly pleased that he had managed to scare him. Theron scoffed at him.

"Why so sour, my warden?" Zevran asked, as if he didn't know. Theron rolled his eyes.

"What do you think?" Then he looked down. It had come out much angrier than he had meant it to. "I'm sorry, Zevran. I am a little... on the edge, right now."

Zevran smiled, and it was almost a gentle kind of a smile.

"It must be quite the odd concept to you," he said. "Being inside so many solid walls." Theron nodded, vaguely grateful that he didn't have to explain it.

"And here I thought human cities were bad," he said, his voice not reaching the level of humor he had meant it to. Maybe the alcohol was affecting him after all. "I guess that's what has me so wound up. That, and the ridiculous politics of these cave rats," he added, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Zevran. The man laughed.

"Now, now," he hummed and somehow managed to stay just as close as before even as Theron leaned away. "I think you need someone to wind you down."

It was Theron's turn to laugh. It felt refreshing.

"Let me make a guess: you are two hairs away from volunteering?" Zevran grinned at him, unashamed as usual.

"It is like you read my mind, my sweet warden." Theron gave him a half-assed smirk and weighed his options. Either he could stay in here and be tormented by the dwarves who wanted to pour him more ale, or he could follow Zevran wherever the man was planning to take him. He doubted anything important was going to be discussed in this party anymore, and he could always claim that he had simply been too tired and had resigned to his resident. Wynne would scold him later, and scoff disapprovingly at Zevran, but it was nothing they hadn't already survived a couple of times before this.

It wasn’t really even a decision and, judging by his lazy grin, Zevran knew it too.

"What kind of unwinding did you have in mind?" he asked, lowering his voice still. Zevran looked delighted.

"Perhaps another massage would be in order, no?"

"And by massage do you mean nothing like a real one?" Theron asked with a grin. "Like you did last time?"

"Now now, my sweet warden, you shouldn't be disrespectful," Zevran tutted. "That was an Antivan massage. Customary, almost. Very much appreciated where I hail from."

Theron could scarcely hold his laugh.

"You hail from a whorehouse," he reminded him, and Zevran laughed.

"That, I do. But my skill is only mine. I've put it together from all I've learned from others," he said and looked theatrically proud.

"Are we talking about a real massage or an Antivan one?" Theron asked, and Zevran shrugged, the curve of his smile still on his lips, languid and attractive.

"Both. Unless you mean for this evening, in which case I have to admit that a 'real' massage did not even cross my mind." To emphasize his point, he dropped his gaze down and dragged it up along Theron's body. When their eyes met, Theron was already biting his lip.

"Lead the way, then."

**Author's Note:**

> I love Zevran.


End file.
